It was bitterly cold. The road seemed deserted and very bright
under the moonlight. He told the driver to wait for him patiently at
the corner of a near turning and, hiding himself as well as he could,
stood stamping his feet to keep warm. He had been indulging
in this healthy exercise for half an hour or so, when a carriage
turned the corner of the road and came quietly in his direction,
at a walking pace.
As it approached, he saw that a woman was leaning her head from
the window. And, suddenly, the moon shed a pale gleam over her features.
"Christine!"
The sacred name of his love had sprung from his heart and his lips.
He could not keep it back. .. He would have given anything
to withdraw it, for that name, proclaimed in the stillness of
the night, had acted as though it were the preconcerted signal
for a furious rush on the part of the whole turn-out, which dashed
past him before he could put into execution his plan of leaping
at the horses' heads. The carriage window had been closed and
the girl's face had disappeared. And the brougham, behind which
he was now running, was no more than a black spot on the white road.
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